Craggy of feature, torn by hot wind, he peered out across a burning desert to the sea.
He could almost smell the seaside spray, cool with a salty tinge, inviting sailors with their own dreams of maiden mermaids, back to their calling, rolling with the waves.
And there he dreamed the dreams of divers meeting sunken mountains deep below rolling tides and layered fathoms called brine.
He dreamed of deep, of darkness far below sunlit sails of vessels hurled along on flowing breeze.
And there the mountain cried, he cried for motion, cried for respite from this sunbaked hell, cried for his own escape, to the sea.
~~~
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